Necessary Sacrifice
by storybookpen
Summary: To break the curse, Emma Swan must come to Storybrooke. For Emma Swan to come to Storybrooke, Henry Mills must persuade her. Rumpelstiltskin will go to great lengths to ensure that Henry Mills is born. Emma/Rumpelstiltskin. Read the warnings!


Warnings: Underage (she's 17), reference to child abuse, reference to attempted rape.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

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><p>They thought they were so clever, those tricksy princes and princesses with their wealth and their power and their <em>true love<em>. They wanted what he had and when they didn't like the price they reneged on their deal, bound his power, locked him away like a common criminal.

They thought they'd beaten him, but they didn't know who he really was. They thought they'd won, but they didn't even understand the game. They thought him fully bound, but they had no idea of the true power at his disposal.

He was the Dark One. He was Rumpelstiltskin. He was the one who would punish them all for what they'd done to him, just as he was the one who would ensure that one day, one very distant day, the heroine would come who could end their torment—and his.

Of course, if she was going to have the chance to do so she'd need a little nudge. Fortunately, that was something he could provide.

They'd done their work better than they might have. They'd bound his power so he couldn't transform or transport himself. He, with all of his ability, could not leave the dwarf-carved cage in which they'd imprisoned him.

There were other ways, however, and he was clever enough to know them all. And Snow White, lovely, _doomed _Snow White, had just given him the key, even as she scurried away from his dire predictions.

He waited until the guards had returned to their posts at the mouth of the cave, far out of hearing, then sat cross-legged on the ground. This was complicated magic, not the casual wish granting he was accustomed to performing. There would be no cavorting during this spell.

It was a struggle to calm his mind. He was brilliant, but his thoughts were never still, and for this kind of powerful magic mental control was a necessity. He concentrated on his breathing, pushing his impatience aside as his respiration gradually slowed and steadied.

"Emma," he murmured.

An image formed in his mind's eye. A girl, perhaps four years old, wearing ill-fitting corduroys, dirt smudged across her face. A shadow covered her, as if a much larger person were looming over her. Tears glistened in her eyes but there was a firmness to her chin that suggested she'd inherited something of her father's determination and her mother's strength.

_Too young,_he thought, whisking away the image.

"Emma," he said again, putting more emphasis behind the call this time, ignoring the way his leg had begun to ache.

Another image, the same girl. Twelve or so now, with skinned knuckles, a bruised cheek, and defiant eyes. Even so she was lovely the way he'd known she'd be. Such a princess she would look in a gown, her hair piled atop her head, her skin unblemished—but that would not be her fate.

Closer, much closer. Almost close enough, and for a moment he was tempted…

But no. She was too young, still, and though one more push would cost him significantly he could not afford to settle for a half-measure, not when it came to this.

"Emma," he said one final time, gasping as the ache in his leg turned into a stab of pain. This spell would cost him the magic that had healed his old leg injury so long ago. All magic came with a price. It was a fair exchange.

This time she was perfect. Perhaps seventeen years old, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair dirty blonde, her skin fair. Even her split lip and the scowl she wore could not detract from her beauty.

_Yes._

Holding his breath now, he reached across time, across space, calling on magic the likes of which his small-minded captors could never imagine. He seized her with his thoughts, felt every part of her essence as if he'd rubbed his hands and tongue across every inch of her skin at once. He grabbed hold, and the flare of agony in his leg only fed his determination as he pulled with all his might.

There was a low popping sound and she was there, exactly as he'd seen her, though her scowl slackened with surprise as she took in her new surroundings. Her brow drew together as she turned in a slow circle, taking in every inch of the dank cell except for the imp sitting directly behind her.

"What the—"

"Emma," Rumpelstiltskin said, springing to his feet with less grace than usual and almost staggering as his bad leg threatened to give out beneath him. "Emma, Emma, Emma!"

She whirled to face him, her hands automatically forming fists. An interesting reflex, and for a moment he allowed himself to regret the life this young woman would have to lead. How sad, that the only innocent in this whole farce was the one who would pay the most. Sad but necessary.

"Who are you?" she demanded, paling as she caught sight of his gruesomely grinning countenance. "Where the hell am I?"

He spread his palms and essayed a courtly bow. "Welcome, darling Emma! Who am I? _I_ am the dearest friend you will ever have. And as for where you are—why, lovely Emma, you are _home_."

She grimaced and took a couple of steps back. "This is some kind of bizarre dream," she said. "It has to be."

"A dream? I think not. I know you too well—better than your own subconscious by far." He put his hands on his hips, looking thoughtful. "You have never belonged," he said, savoring the way the words tasted on his tongue, the flinch she couldn't quite conceal. "You are beautiful, intelligent, even _regal_, one might say, and yet you have never been loved, never found a pillow where you could comfortably rest your head."

"Plenty of people don't fit in," she snapped, her arms crossing over her chest defensively. "So what?"

He took a step towards her, pleased when she held her ground. "Ah, but my dear, you are special. Surely you've always known it. Surely you've always known that you were not where you were supposed to be."

He knew he was right. Even if he hadn't been able to see the desperate longing in her eyes, he could feel the way her soul resonated with his. Wrong, they were both _wrong_, and for both of them magic was the cause.

She closed her eyes, shaken by his insight. "I don't—" She swallowed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He cocked his head. "There's a reason you've felt that way, Emma dove. You were in the wrong place. A terrible place, so far from your true home. A home where happy endings exist."

"This is crazy," she said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. "Just—look, just send me back to where I was. Or let me wake up, whatever. I don't know what you want, but I'm not going to give it to you so just—just let me go."

Poor Emma. He would never let her go; how could he?

"Your parents are here," he said in his softest, most enticing voice.

There was a long pause.

"What?" she croaked.

"They're here, lonely Emma, and they love you. They love you more than they will ever love anything or anyone in this life or the next."

"Why should I believe you?" she demanded, taking a step closer to him. She wanted to believe him.

He smiled and caressed her cheek, unfazed by the way she jerked away from his touch. "Because beneath your cynicism, dearie, you've always known that someone, _somewhere_, must have loved you. You are _Emma_; how could they not?"

She trembled. "What do you want from me?"

He reached out and squeezed her breast. On reflex she punched him in the face, sending him staggering backwards.

"You have to be _kidding_ me!" she shouted, shaking out her smarting hand. "All this just to get in my _pants_?"

Rubbing his cheek, which had already ceased to hurt, he shook his head ruefully. "You are very much your parents' child, you are."

Her glare did its best to slice him in two.

Chuckling, he told her, "I'm afraid you must allow me 'in your pants' if you ever hope to live the life you deserve, Emma my pet. Only you can break the curse that will entrap us all. And there is only one way you will ever be in position to do so. You must have a child."

She snorted. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Her skepticism was beginning to grate, but he supposed he couldn't blame her for doubting. "I have seen every possible future," he said, allowing sincerity to leak into his voice though it pained him to do so. "There is only one way to free us all. You must do this, Emma."

He would force her if he had to. He hoped it would not come to that.

"I can't be a mother," Emma said, shaken by his fervent words. "I don't—I barely even know how to be a person."

"You will love him," he promised her. "With all that you are."

He did not tell her that the child would be taken from her only hours after birth. He did not tell her that he himself would not remember that he had fathered the child. He did not tell her that the child would know the same loneliness and pain, though not the same abuses, as she had experienced her entire life.

"A boy," she whispered.

He almost had her. He could tell by the way her chin lifted bravely and her breathing quickened.

"I will be gentle, Emma love," he said, laying his palm against her cheek. "It will not be like the last time."

Her eyes met his in surprise. "You know about that?"

He knew. He knew that her current foster father had tried to force himself on her just two weeks ago—from her perspective—and he knew that if the man had been sober he would have succeeded. He also knew that when she woke up tomorrow, with no memory of tonight but with the physical marks on her body, she would assume the man had raped her. She would confront him, and for once when they came to blows she would knock him on his ass. She would beat him so badly she would find herself in prison, and in prison she would learn that she was pregnant.

"I know that you have scars," he murmured, rubbing his thumb across her lips.

"Why aren't I fighting this more?" she said. "This is insane."

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "Logically, nothing I've said makes sense. But this isn't the world you know. Here, your gut means everything—and it knows I'm telling the truth."

He kissed her lightly, and again. On the next pass she responded, her lips clinging to his for just an instant. Another kiss and his hands came up to cradle the back of her head even as his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her sweetness and warmth.

She broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against his, her eyes squeezed shut. "How can you know—how can you be sure this will work?"

_How can you know I'll become pregnant?_ she meant.

Another kiss as he pressed his body against hers. The smell and feel of her were making his blood race. "Three times, dearie," he said, laving her neck with his tongue. "Three times is the charm."

She tentatively lifted her hand and set it on his hip. His eyes met hers. He liked the steely determination in her gaze.

"Then let's get started," she said.

Grinning, he kissed her again, but this was a different kind of kiss. This time their breaths mingled as their tongues fought for dominance. He clutched her to him, fighting the base part of his nature that wanted to simply tear off her clothes and ravish her with no consideration for her comfort. She was bolder than he expected, not shying away from the first tentative thrust of his hips.

This time when he touched her breast she froze, holding very still as he explored the curve of her, gently at first and then with more pressure. After a long, long moment she sighed and relaxed into his hand.

Encouraged, he slid his hand up under her shirt and bra, this time feeling her silken breast and peaking nipple skin to skin. He continued to kiss her as he worked her nipple, gently pinching and twisting it, testing her reactions.

She didn't fight when he drew off her shirt and bra, baring her to the chilly air. His lips curved as he looked down, examining her form.

"Pretty, pretty girl," he murmured, enjoying the way she blushed from the waist up.

He bent to take her neglected nipple in his mouth. She made a surprised noise at the back of her throat as his teeth gently clamped down, his tongue stroking across her sensitive peak. Distracting her with his mouth, he set about removing the rest of her clothing, his hands warming her body wherever goose bumps formed.

When at last she was naked, he stepped back to admire her again. Truly, he had never seen anything so perfect. This, right here, was almost revenge enough for every wrong that had ever been done to him.

She swallowed. "What now?"

He reached inside his trousers and pulled out his cock, stroking himself unselfconsciously as he considered his options, vaguely amused by the way her eyes landed on his straining erection and stayed there, entranced. He dearly would have liked to take her up against the wall, but he was just beginning to relearn the limitations of his damaged leg and it simply wouldn't do to fall over as he was in the midst of the most perfect encounter of his life. At some point tonight he would take her from behind, the Beast to her awe-inspiring Beauty, but not until after he'd eased her through her very first time.

He beckoned for her to come closer and after a slight hesitation she obeyed. He pulled her into a searing kiss, grinding his cock into her stomach.

"Come with me," he said, taking hold of her hand and pulling her with him as he lay down on his back. He guided her to straddle him, her core just inches above his aching cock.

She watched, mesmerized, as he licked his lips and reached down to stroke her slit. She squirmed at the unfamiliar sensation but didn't pull away. His touch quickly became bolder, his fingers pushing partway inside her even as his thumb brushed against her clit, making her suck in a sharp breath.

He pulled his hand away and reached for the back of her neck, pulling her down for another kiss. The feeling of her bare breasts against his chest was electrifying. Everything about her set him on fire. If he didn't enter her soon he thought his magic might actually make him combust.

"This is going to hurt," he told her, placing his hands on her hips and pushing her into place. He guided just the tip of himself into her, groaning as her tight walls clamped down on him.

"So what else is new?" she asked. For the first time she took the initiative and kissed him. As she did, she pushed down, taking more of him into herself and using the blunt head of his cock to tear her hymen.

She stayed that way for several minutes, adjusting to the sensation, her breathing ragged. He did his best to soothe her, running his hands up and down her sides, toying with her nipples and her clit until her pain gave way to urgency.

She gave another exploratory push with her hips. He took that as permission to thrust up into her, penetrating her as deeply as he could. She moaned, her eyes rolling back, and rocked against him.

Clutching her hips, he helped her move against him, rising off of his cock and then dropping back down. He established a slow, gentle rhythm of thrusts, savoring each sensation as he stole her innocence and forced her to open to him. His own breathing became uneven as he felt his need growing ever more urgent, pushing him to thrust a little harder, a little faster. The sight of her perfect breasts bouncing with each motion, the taste of her hard nipples, the smell of her cheap shampoo—they all combined to drive him beyond reason, to the point where all he knew was the bliss of mating with his Emma.

He fucked her hard and fast now, his cock pounding up into her and his grip on her hips just this side of bruising. She didn't protest, meeting his thrusts with vigor, a look of such concentration on her face that he didn't expect one pinch to her clit to send her over the edge—but send her over it did, making her moan and twist and writhe as she shuddered through orgasm, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

Her walls clamped down on him and that was enough. He cried her name as he plunged into her as deeply as he could and came, sheer euphoria overwhelming him as he shot his seed inside her, his hips continuing to thrust until he was wrung dry.

Finally she collapsed on top of him, her body wracked by fine tremors. He stroked her hair, and for once his smile was not cruel. He would give her a little time to recover—he himself was already ready to go again, one of the pleasant side effects of his magic.

Eventually he roused her with his lips around her clit then took her in the same fashion he imagined Prince Charming liked to take Snow White, with her on her back, her legs up over his shoulders. After another respite he positioned her on all fours and fucked her as the Queen's Hunstman always fucked his women, long, deep, savage thrusts from behind that made Emma scream her pleasure.

Afterwards, he held her in his arms for a long time. When he felt her breathing begin to deepen and even out, it was with some regret that he whispered, "Forget." He felt the magical suggestion slither into her mind and take hold in the instant that she fell asleep.

He could have sent her back right then, but some unfamiliar kind instinct convinced him to let her rest for a while. She would be back in hell soon enough, and the rest of them with her.


End file.
